George. The third, the final, the little boy who will be forever stuck being my baby despite his eventual age. When George was born a whole cluster of things came full circle and found resolution. The last 8 months have felt, in many ways, like a new kind of life for me.. a new life that began when George came along and closed the previous chapters.
I know that some women have practically mystical experiences giving birth… the instant love, the pain that was worth it, everything gone to plan, and a quick happy recovery with a new little person they love. But that just isn’t how it worked for me. In fact, the idea of those glamourous, “perfect” births made dealing with my own violent, disruptive, complicated, painful births even harder to deal with… because I felt like there was something wrong with me. Where was my glowing halo of love? Why wasn’t I smiling all the time? Why didn’t I love my baby immediately? Was I a bad mother because I thought “wow, that whole experience totally sucked”?
I had to grieve the loss of an idea… the loss of that blissful experience I had been expecting ever since I was old enough to know I wanted babies. Philip’s birth was traumatic, painful, complicated… and resulted in a long, disgusting fight with my medical community. I had to have reconstructive surgery after the birth, and was in pain for years afterwards. The pain I was in contributed to not being able to bond properly in the beginning, and the whole things left me feeling like a big fat failure. I know in hindsight that thats rubbish… but when I was going through it nothing felt truer.
And so, I wanted my 2nd birth experience to erase the first. I wanted a good memory to erase that bad one, I wanted to experience a happy birth and to feel less alien in that experience. That, of course, didn’t happen. Henry’s birth put Philip’s to shame in the “awful” category, yet I was able to bond quicker with him so I felt calmer and saner through it because of that.
When I was pregnant with George, I knew what could happen and I expected the worst. Prepare for the worst but hope for the best… I think that is pretty good advice generally. And that is what I did. But my pregnancy with George felt so different from the beginning. So much healthier, happier… I actually caught myself enjoying being pregnant which had not happened with the other pregnancies. I received fantastic medical care throughout… and had a planned c-section 2 weeks before my due date with exactly ZERO complications through my entire pregnancy. A miracle indeed.
By someone else’s standards, George’s birth might not have looked ideal. I had a c-section that took quite a long time to perform due to adhesions and scarring from previous surgical adventures in that area. I reacted poorly to the anesthesia, and was ill throughout the procedure. I was in a lot of pain afterwards because they had to do so much more creative maneuvering due to those adhesions and scars.
But for me, it was absolute bliss. Throughout my whole pregnancy I never truly believe I’d get a real live baby at the end of it… too much experience with loss to full grasp that hope I suppose… but when I first heard him cry… oh God that was the sweetest, sweetest sound. I burst into tears, my husband kissed me, and a few surgical stitches later the 7 year long portion of my life dedicated to family planning was over. That long, long, arduous, complicated, painful journey to achieve the family that we wanted was finished. And not just finished… it was finished beautifully with a happy birth memory to wrap it all up in a tidy bow.
While on my journey to become a mother, I missed my own mother the most. And how that I am finished with that chapter I can wash my hands of it and get on with the next bit… the Parenting of the Three. Having teeny tiny George in my arms didn’t make me miss my mother in the way I did when I held teeny tiny Henry in my arms… instead he helped me to FEEL her. She was there, I was there, the circle was complete, and my true healing finally began.
And with George… we were finally home. We were living in the country where we knew we belonged, in a village we loved, with family that was to be happily involved with us. And so the long journey of finding a home was over as well. Again, all wrapped up in a sweet little George shaped bow.
The 7 years of my life spent building my family taught me so, so much. I learned that no one ever actually gets to plan a pregnancy, they only get to be lucky or unlucky because there are much stronger forces at work in family planning that the simple will of a mother. I learned that grief is an ugly, ugly thing – but also a process that can, in time, feel like a comfortable part of you rather than the thing hanging around your neck and strangling you. I learned never to ask a woman if she is pregnant unless she is clearly, CLEARLY about to pop. I learned that suffering is a part of motherhood, and that it serves a purpose. I learned to let go of big, bold expectations of what I wanted my life to look like… and instead to loosen my grip, admit an absence of control, and to just cope with whatever life decided IT wanted to be. I learned that you never stop learning how to be a parent, because as soon as you have one part figured out you are thrown into the next river of unknown situations. Also, that just because I knew what to do with one kid did not by any stretch of the imagination mean that I knew what to do with the next one.
I learned SO much about myself, about my husband, about the highs and hells of grown-up love. I learned about the indescribable love for a child – both born and unborn. I learned that absolutely everyone has an opinion about your pregnancy and parenting… and that pretty much everyone is wrong except for you because as long as you are doing your best, then you are doing just fine. I inherited a sort of tribal, collective sympathy for women and the gains and losses they incur in this lifelong battle of womanhood.
I grew up. I met my boys. I found my home. I honestly… Honestly… wouldn’t change a thing. And now I look forward into the Next Big Stage in my life with three little dudes hanging off me and my one big dude holding my hand, and oh am I happy about it.
So, so happy.
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